I decided I was underduress.
He stumbled, and then his backside hit the ground. A gun went off. I spun around to find one of the men trying to pry the gun from Tristan’s hands while Earring-guy was yelling at him tostop.
Something sharp carved through my calf, tearing a scream from me. I toppled forward, falling right into Jarod’s rigid arms. For several breaths, he didn’t move, but then, he twirled me around and kicked Mo’s wrist right as he swung his makeshift weapon again. The bottle rocketed out of his grip and landed on the floor with an earsplittingcrash.
Another gunshot wentoff.
This time the bullet sank into flesh. Earring-guy seized up as his friend’s brain matter exploded all over him. And then he paled and stumbled away, heaving. Tristan got to his feet, wiped the blood on his forehead with the sleeve of the jacket he’d cleaned so assiduously, then aimed the gun at the guy who’d attacked me. The bullet zipped through the air and ricocheted off aplate.
“Jarod!” I screeched when I saw Mo grab a steakknife.
I lunged to put myself between them. Jarod wrapped an arm around my middle and whisked me up and around. As my heels met the ground, a growl lurched out of Jarod’s throat and lashed myfeathers.
I tried to look over my shoulder, but my wings were in the way. I magicked them out of existence and twirled in Jarod’sarms.
Another shot pealed through the restaurant. Mo dipped his chin and looked at the dribbling hole in his chest. His eyes rolled back, and he flopped against a table before crashing to theground.
My ears rang, and my throat constricted at the stench of hot blood and acrid vomit. Jarod’s complexion had paled considerably, and his eyes had this glassy sheen to them that made me skate my palms over his jaw, down his warm neck, and over his back. His shirt had been slashed. When my fingers came away sticky and red, I realized Mo had hacked my sinner’sback.
“He cut you!” Iyelped.
“I know, Feather. I wasthere.”
I blinked at his dry humor. It wasn’t funny. None of this wasfunny.
“I’m fine,” Jarodadded.
He didn’t look fine. He looked white as the fish congealed on one of the plates next tous.
“Let me see,” Isaid.
“I said I wasfine.”
“Jarod—”
He clasped my wrists. “I said I was fine. It’s just a superficialscratch.”
“Scratches don’t bleed that much,” I said but then caught Tristan raising the gun on Earring-guy, who was on all fours, emptying the contents of his stomach. “Tristan,no!”
His finger squeezed the trigger, and the man fell face-first into his ownvomit.
Tears ran down my cheeks at themassacre.
Myfault.
This was all myfault.
If I hadn’t pushed Jarod to take up thistask.
If I hadn’t let my guard down and allowed myself to be used as a pawn in this powerplay.
Oh, Great Elysium, what had Idone?
My wings reappeared, and I curled them around me, wishing they could protect me from all this death, but all they accomplished was hiding the spectacle. I could still smell the bitter cordite; I could still hear the squeal of approachingsirens.
“We should go before the police get here,” Tristan said, his voice so incredibly calm I wanted to smackhim.
How could he be so unaffected by taking three lives? Because he was used toit?
